Confessions! NOT the Catholic ones, you twits
by don't eat no biscuit
Summary: My very first fic. I'm so proud. R and R please! Another disclaimer... Louise Rennison owns all the following characters and the basic plot. And maybe even the Geeisms.
1. Chapter 1

7:02 pm

Oh god. Oh goddygodgod. What have I done? One moment I have two Dreamboats eating out of the palm of my hand, and a court-jester-type thingemedendum as well. And then Masimo is looking over my shoulder all amazed, and Robbie, and...furry shorts…

7:09 pm

Oh god. I will never have a boyfriend as long as I live. I will be a whatsit living in caves and eating bits of old snails that I find under rocks.

7:11 pm

Not much different than this hellhole. I crept down the stairs really quietly and made a daring move towards the refrigerator. Fat chance of getting there. My venerated sister leapt out of the closet with a hideous piece of an eggplant and wonked me over the head with it.

"Heggo, Gingey, Gergie, I am a farmer!"

"Yes, Libby, I see the eggplant. Did you know farmers go to bed early and wake up la—"

"Shush. Snuggle time."

"No, Bibbet, Gingey is very tired and really has—"

"Sleep now. Bad boy."

9:23 pm

Escape! Freedom! Thank you sweet baby Jesus!

Yeah right. The loons are downstairs having an International Conference on Neighborly Affairs downstairs. The neighbors are looning about like great looning things. I can see Uncle Eddie through the crack of the door.

The door opened and there is my Most Honorable Vati, once again in his Legalet costume. I must remind myself to burn it, lest he injure himself. Actually, that would be a blessing in disguise. "Gee, if you're going to spy at doors you might want to use less makeup. All that mascara will weigh you down in your espionage." Yeah, rave on, Portly One.

And all the so-called adults laughed. That was the big joke. And then they all went raving away.

9:47 pm

Alas, a bit of carrot Libby has not turned into her mad plaything. Yum yum.

Now that I am in my boudoir again, I can refocus my mind on more pressing matters than the Loon Convent down in the kitchen. Or do I mean convention? I must not let my mind wander. I must focus. Ohmmmm.

10:03 pm

Focused so intently I didn't notice the small army of cats climbing into my bed.

One of them is Naomi, the Burmese sex kitten for whom Angus pines. If I were more mature I might turn her in to the Cat Oppressor Squad. But sadly I am not.

10:09 pm

Can't the bloody buggering cats see that my bed is enough of a bed of pain without the clawing and biting of my toes?

The answer is "apparently not.".

Listening to my messages.

"Ciao, Georgia, I am wondering if you and I can still go together. Where did you leave to after Robbie came? We could not have found you. Call me, caro. 674-3401."

Oh good. More doubtosity and heebie-jeebnosity to add to my train of confusednosity and sadnosity.

"Hey Sex Kitty. I saw Robbie. I can only say that if thee follow thy star, thou canst not fail of glorious pants." Dave the Laugh, obviously. Oh goddygodgod.

"Gee? I saw, with, Robbie, and Masimo, and I thought…what in the bloody hell did you run away for?"

Jazzy Spazzy. I will tell her why I ran away. Because I am a red-bottomed minx who has led Robbie and Masimo, and Dave, and perhaps even the Gob on.

11:31 pm

And possibly Oscar, the preteen nymphomaniac.


	2. Chapter 2

Next Day

9:43 am

Awakened early by my troubles.

9:53 am

Scavenging for a meal in this dump. The remains of last night's Cat Lynchers meeting are all over the place. It seems that the vino was comsumed and something involving "Twister" was played. How the germaphobics managed to bend themselves enough to play Twister is beyond me. Or is that geriatrics? Oh, don't ask me these things. I am too frazzled to worry about the petty English language.

11:26 am

I think I am going to die. There were three new messages when I walked by the telephone.

"Gee, I'm sorry, but I think we should stop seeing each other. If we ever were. I had to go to New Zealand, and I came back, and you seemed to be moved on. So now I--"

The tape recorder stopped recording.

"Message. Two."

"So now I think that I'm going to move on too. I'm sorry."

The last one was not from Robbie.

"Don't be alarmed by the short fiasco, the Lycra sandals were in short supply and by the time we had—"

There were several thumping noises and giggling. Rosie was certifiably insane. What do Lycra sandals have to do with Sven's furry shorts? Nothing, I think is the answer you are searching for.

Oh god. My pillow is soaked. My mascara is all over the place. I can't stop crying.

1:49 pm

Libby came clanking into my room like a little midget psychopath, which she so clearly is. And I do mean clanking. She has three pots strapped to a belt, which is around her waist.

"Giiiingey, I have pots! Lookey look!"

Ohhhh. She is so vair vair vair cute when she isn't leaving surprises in my bed. For instance, used nappies, jello bunnies, and, in one terrifying instance, a sack of rotten milk cartons. She crept up right to the side of the bed and did the weird mouth breathing the toddler mad do.

And she spit on my face.

2:03 pm

Scrubbing my face clean. With a Brillo pad. I cannot even mourn the original, bona fide Sex God dumping me without having some sort of bodily fluid being thrown at my face by the toddler folk.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own any books. Louise Rennison owns all the characters and the basic plot of the following story. She has many fantastic books. Sorry for the toadying but I am scared poo-less of litigation.

2:43 pm

Rang Jas.

"Gee! What happened? Did anyone ring?"

"Oui. They all rang. Robbie… he said it was over." My voice cracked in the middle of "Robbie."

"Non."

"Oui." Now I was actually blubbing over the phone. "The nub and gist of it is that when he went to Kiwi-a-gogo I should have…. I shouldn't have…"

Jas seemed to understand what I was saying. Which was eerie. And she also didn't try to pull the "Mother-Teresa-I-Told-You-So" attitude. Scarily grown-up.

3:01 pm

Doorbell rang.

Luckily, I had reapplied my natural-French chic makeup after the unfortunate incident of the spit.

Que c'est-le point? Why even go downstairs? It will be Masimo telling me that he is looking for an older woman or Wet Lindsay here to add to the spit-in-Georgia's-face fiasco.

2:46 pm

It was only Junior Blunderboy looning around. I answered the door and he threw a dirt clod at the door. Sadly, his aim is that of a comatose gerbil's and it bounced off the wall.

Next day

9:40 am

R.E.

Same bat time. Same bat place. Miss Wilson is raving on about the origins of religion and Nosferatu or whatever mundane things she raves on about. Rosie passed me a note.

Gee-

If you were with Robbie you would be indirectly snogging marsupials. Hoooooooooorn!

Thank you for announcing my marvy news, Radio Jas. Even in times of crisisosity she cannot keep her fringe-covered mouth SHUT. I wrote back even though my grief and mourning should have stopped me.

RoRo-

Have you ever considered going into the therapist business? Because if you haven't, good.

3:02 pm

Thinking. In bed.

The short and fat of it is that I have to pick Masimo or Dave.

3:05 pm

I cannot play second whatsit to the Italian bint. Masimo was more worried about her feeling alright about him going to America than about me. Dave has always put me first. Even after I was a horrible minx and used him as a rubber-band-er-izer. And I also cannot play second fiddle to the gormless oik that is Lindsay.

3:06 pm

But I think of our date and it makes me want to cry. No, scratch that. It does make me cry. My eye makeup has blended itself into the equivalent of a black eye.

3:09 pm

Scrubbing off my black eye.

3:17 pm

Still soaking the bloody eye with remover.

3:33 pm

I have just discovered that as a hilarious joke my Vati has put vodka into my makeup remover. I stumbled upon this interesting fact after opening my eye with the towel still on it.

3:47 pm

And Dave the Laugh is very protective. I remembered the not-so-very-unfortunate circumstance in which Mark Big Gob was severely beaten up after the extremely unfortunate nunga-nunga incident.

4:01 pm

Calling Jas in preparation for The Call. The Call in which I dump Masimo.

4:09 pm

Calling the pizza man in preparation of the call in which I call Jas about the Call Call.

4:11 pm

Oh my giddy god's trousers. Masimo here, is Vespa, driveway, Mutti, door answering. Masimo her in driveway is the. Here.

4:23 pm.

Masimo has just left. This is a summary of our glorious conversation.

"Ciao, Georgia."

(Around here I start to die from rednessnosity.)

"Masimo, do you fancy going outside to talk?"

(Notice that, at this point, we ARE outside.)

"I am wanting to ask whether you have thought about it. About us being us."

(Thought about it? Thought about it? Did I THINK about it?)

"I'm sorry. I, can't, you and Gina-(very good! I had remembered the bint's name! Showing compassion and an interest in him. Shutupshutupshutup.)-and, Dave, and pants."

Masimo looked quite confused.

My talents as a goldfish mime artist must have been on display. But I didn't even try to conceal the fishnessnosity.

"Pants?"

"I'm really sorry. I can't. It's just, with your girlfriend, and Lindsay—"

"I understand. Do you think we can be maybe friends, Signorina Georgia?"

Oh oh oh oh oh. I hadn't prepared for the Friendship Inquisition.

"Er. Yes, I mean, if you want, to be, friends, I guess, if that's, okay."

Blimey, I had simultaneously turned into Ellen, a dumper, and an Honorary Mate.

And he smiled. Oh god. He smiled. Was that good or bad?

And he got on his Vespa.

And he drove away.

Why did I say yes this time? Perhaps I had suddenly become a charity-type person. What would that make me? Er…Mother Jas with a proper fringe. Nevermind.

7:46 pm

Jas rang.

"Hotel Stupid, reception speaking."

"Gee, guess what?"

"Alright, if I must. Your vati has set fire to a kilt."

"Hahahaha-di-haha. No, better."

"It was my vati, then?"

"No, well, er, maybe. Has he?"

"What is it?"

8:12 pm

I was amazed.

We were amazed.

It was amazing, that's why.


	4. Chapter 4 in which Ellen gets a life

Disclaimer: I still don't own any of Louise Rennison's books. She owns the following characters and basic plot. If I were as talented as her there's not a chance in hello I would be on Fanfic.

8:26 pm

Absolutely top! Emma has dumped Dave the Laugh! How weird. Apparently, she said he never took anything seriously. Well, if she was in it for the seriosity, she would have done better with the guitar plucker. Or Dave the Unlaugh. Shutup shutup brain.

Midnight

Apparently I only know his deepnessnosity. Ooer.

1:34 am

Vair vair strange.

Next Day

8:56 am

German

We had stunned Herr Kamyer with our hilariosity before settling down to speak of the big news. He was handing back tests that the gang had discussed beforehand. Our stunning plan was to draw little Hitler mustaches and koala-bear cardis on all the pictures on the test. Why he feels compelled to test us with pictures I will never know.

He apparently thought they were attempts at smiley faces.

All of us were falling about. In spite of the scandalosity and the leftover tragicosity it did cheer me up a lot.

"When do you think I should make my cunning move to get Dave the Laugh back?"

Jas, in a fit of stupidosity, said, "What cunning plan? Don't you feel guilty enough about Ellen and…"

On an on she went. Before I shoved a midget gem in her gob.

"Ellen has dumped him from her mind."

And then Ellen just appeared out of thin air.

"What?"

"Er, I was just saying I thought you had…lagged behind."

Now I was talking completely merde and poppycock.

"What, I mean, when you say, does that, is that, er—"

But then Jas opened her gob again.

11:34 pm

Games

Jas is dead to me. I will never be speaking to her again. She TOLD ELLEN about the Dave the Laugh incident. And Ellen went all dithery and insane.

And, she, in a rare streak of attitude and sanity is not speaking to me.

Unbelievable.

3:04 pm

Ellen has forgiven us all under one condition…We must help her find a real, actual, living, flesh-and-blood boyfriend.

"Is there anyone you fancy then?"

"Er, well, I mean, if, I, quite rate…" She was all dithery and red.

"Who is it?"

"Well, I quite rate…the tall window cleaner."

God help us one and all.

Next Day

8:04 am

Here is our cunning plan…When the window cleaners leave the school and get in their van, Rosie invites them to her next party, allowing Ellen to be introduced to the tall one.

We hid behind the school gates and watched Rosie.

"Just wanted to invite you to the party," she said. "The theme is 'mozzarella'."

They just kind of stared stupidly.

But then the shorter one said, "Er, yeah, alright, where and what time?"

After that short conversation Rosie turned back to us and we noticed she had a fake unibrow plastered to her head.

Ellen, queen dithery prat, went, "Well, the unibrow, I mean, don't you, if that's, you know, off-putting?"

"What is?"

Next Day

Mozzarella Party

Operation Windex

7:56 pm

Ellen is, apparently, the boyfriend of a window cleaner. Operation Windex was a marvy success. All we did was go up and introduce Ellen. And she just hung around with them going redder than two red things, and then the tall one snogged her. We were agog as an agog thing.

"What did you say to make him snog you in the first ten minutes you've known him?"

"Er, well, I mean, nothing."

So all is well in the land of the terminally insane.

2:57 pm

Back in my boudoir of cunning and planning.

Or at least it was until my darling sister threw herself into my room.

"Gingeyyyy! It is MEEEEEEEEE!"

"Hello Bibsy. Time for boboland. Why don't you take Scuba-Diving Barbie and Pantalitzer back to your room?"

"Shh. Snuggle, bad boy."

"Not with your fwends, Libby, just—"

And then she quite literally knocked me out of bed to make way for the Pantalitzer.


End file.
